


courage (teach me to be shy)

by aesthetichomo



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, anxious dan, more angst wow whats new, no smut can you believe it, oh boy, restless phil, semi-serious discussions of mental illness, this was too long to be considered a drabble i think lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:49:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesthetichomo/pseuds/aesthetichomo
Summary: The thing is, Dan has never been calm.He can't remember a point in his life when he wasn't on the brink of panicking. His years have been spent in a whirlwind of pill cocktails crafted by exhausted doctors and a fed-up family, and not once has he had a moment of true, unwavering serenity.He meets Phil, and that still doesn't change.But it makes it a hell of a lot easier to live with.(or, sad boys fall in love in a library.)





	courage (teach me to be shy)

The first time they meet, Dan is piling books onto a table and Phil is covering his arms in pen-ink doodles. Neither of them say a word when Dan drops a copy of an Oscar Wilde novel and nearly collapses, and neither of them say a word when Phil goes from studying, to browsing on his phone, back to studying, to drawing on the table.

Dan slides a piece of paper to him, the words ‘ _use this instead_ ’ written on the top.

Neither of them could've imagined what it might've started between them. But god, Dan's glad it did.

-

The thing is, Dan has never been calm.

He can't remember a point in his life when he wasn't on the brink of panicking. His years have been spent in a whirlwind of pill cocktails crafted by exhausted doctors and a fed-up family, and not once has he had a moment of true, unwavering serenity.

The click of a pen could send him over the edge (already has, more than once) and that makes it unbelievably difficult for him to do trivial things and be an overall functioning human.

He meets Phil, and that still doesn't change.

But it makes it a hell of a lot easier to live with.

_

“I never liked Dickens,” Phil states, touching the worn pages of _Oliver Twist_. “He takes too long to get a point across. I'd rather watch paint dry.’

If anyone else talked as loud as Phil does in a library, Dan might’ve steered clear. But he’s used to it now, so he just shrugs, running his hand over the pages. “He got paid for the word,” he says, “I'd write a whole novel on paint drying if it got me money.”

Phil laughs, a bright and cheery one that still makes Dan weak in the knees (and the arms and the chest and the heart and the brain.)

“We should write book, don’t you think? _The Tales of the Hyperactive and Hyperventilating_ by Dan Howell and Phil Lester. I'd ramble about my stupid thoughts and you'd write them down until you got overwhelmed,” he says, nudging Dan's knee with his and Dan can't help but smile.

“That'd be a long process,” he giggles, “I’d get overwhelmed just by picking up the bloody pencil.”

Phil's hand clasps around his and they turn the page together. “Maybe I'd have to help you a little. I don't mind. As long as you help me stay on track and not go on a tangent about photosynthesis.”

Dan nods, and yeah. He could do that.

-

They meet at the library because it's the only place that Dan knows like the back of his hand.

Everywhere else is too much, or not enough, or too crowded or too barren. The little, worn-down place is run by a couple of cute old ladies who call Dan ‘sweetie’ and Phil ‘darling’, and it's enough for them.

If the library is their home, then the corner by the classics shelf is their personal living room. They've left permanent traces of themselves there, whether it be Phil's nail marks in the wooden armrests of the cushioned chairs or Dan's collection of his favorite books piled in every corner. Luckily, no one really goes over there anyway. No one but them.

“The coffee pot won't turn on,” Dan grumbles, empty mug in his hands and a book under his arm. “It's the third time this month. D’ya think they'll notice before June?”

Phil shakes his head, legs thrown over the armrest with his feet balanced on the little side table. “Probably not. I'll let them know after I finish this level. Bloody Tetris, ruining my life since I was a fetus.”

Dan smiles and settles in the chair next to him, content to keep his limbs to himself. “I'm pretty sure it ruined everyone's life. I still hear the music in my dreams.”

Phil doesn't answer, but Dan doesn’t mind. He’s fine with examining Phil, finding comfort in the way his eyebrows are pinched in concentration and his foot taps against the table, rattling it a bit.

He’s one of the very few things that Dan can look at and know that it won't hurt him.

It took a long way to get here, weeks on weeks  of Dan asking himself if Phil is different, if he means it when he says he'll stick around. Being the way he is, Dan can't- he isn't _good_ at trusting people. It's not like he actively tries to close himself off, but it just happens sometimes.

Then Phil came along, with warm hands and soft smiles and made it worth the effort. Even on the worst days, still worth the effort.

So. Dan works on himself and trusts Phil to a certain degree and leaves the rest of it up to the universe. And so far, it hasn't led him astray.

“Dan?”

Dan looks up, blinking a few times to break the clouds in his mind. Phil is looking at him fondly. It makes something flutter in Dan’s stomach. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted a snack while I was up at the machines.”

Dan shrugs, glancing up and meeting Phil's eyes. “Surprise me.”

Phil runs a hand down Dan’s forearm, a butterfly-inducing touch. “I’ll grab a granola bar or something. Mug?” He points to the black ceramic mug in Dan's hand and lets his fingers linger on the tips of Dan's when he takes it.

Then he’s gone, disappearing between the rows and rows of stacked books, ranging from Dickens to Bronte to Fitzgerald.

It's been a long while, but Dan still feels like Phil is brand new. Brand new and beautiful, like the characters of a story just beginning.

Dan finds himself hanging on every word.

-

Sometimes, Phil gets restless.

 

He's always been that way, muttering to himself to fill silence that wasn’t there in the first place, arranging things that are already organized and starting conversations that have long since finished. But Dan doesn't mind, because that's one trait that adds to Phil's character.

“They put me on a new medication,” Phil mumbles one morning, a little sluggish and his words a little slurred when he finally meets Dan by their corner. “It tastes bad and makes my stomach hurt. I don't like it.”

Dan sets his book to the side and furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Do you need something to eat?”

Phil shakes his head and plops onto his seat. “No, I'll have to get used to it if I want to be a normie,” he sighs, but with a smile on his face.

There's truth nestled in the statement, like maybe, if it was a different day in a different chapter, they'd talk about it. But right now, in this chapter, there isn't a single thought in Dan's mind that justifies putting Phil through that kind of conversation. Not when he knows the medication tango and the side effects that accompany it.

Instead, Dan pulls him up after a few moments (despite the exhausted protests) and drags them both to a sofa near the Young Adult section. He lays them down so Phil's head rests against his shoulder and it only takes a few quiet, relaxing minutes before Phil is dozing off.

Dan only hopes Phil can find peace in his dreams.

-

They end up hauling that same sofa to their little corner by the classics.

Phil asks Bea and Nancy with smooth charm and they wave him off with kind eyes, giving him permission with a lighthearted warning to behave.

Dan was nervous about it at first, and still is, somewhere deep down. Moving the couch makes noise and people will stare and it'll be different and it's hard for Dan to adjust as easily as Phil can.

It gets moved, though, and Phil talks him down from a panic attack, and for a second, Dan feels defeated.

But with his nose buried in a new story and Phil's head on his chest, it doesn’t last very long.

-

He and Phil don't talk about _this_ , what they do when they find their peace with each other, but it doesn't stop others from prying and staring.

A gaggle of teenage girls walk past one afternoon, covering their mouths to whisper and Dan can catch bits and pieces of an insult. His fingers tighten around the cover of his book, willing his mind to shut up for a second.

Phil looks over at him, a flash of something fierce in his eyes.

He leans in, mumbling a concerned, “you okay?”

Dan nods out of habit, but then takes a second to think it through. He shakes his head instead.

The girls linger by some mystery  novels, pretending to flip through them and using the hardback covers to shield their mouths. A word is said too loud, and Dan has to snap his eyes shut and bite the skin of his cheek to stop from shaking. A strong flood of anger and anxiety wash through him at the same time, like he's stuck at sea without a life vest. If they wanted to piss him off, they could've found a more creative slur. As if he hadn’t heard that one everyday in Year 6.

“Do you want me to say something?” Phil quips, and Dan shakes his head even faster. Confrontation is Dan’s kryptonite (along with human interaction and loud voices and existence in general.)

“What can I do to help?” Phil tries instead, one hand coming to rest on Dan's thigh. His foot is bouncing against the carpet wildly and there’s still a glint of something whirring behind his eyes but his fingers are remain still, like a rock waging through a tidal wave. Sometimes, that's the only thing keeping Dan ashore.

A word spit from an ignoramus doesn't change that. A petty slur doesn't change that. Nothing will change the fact that Phil has been, and will be for the foreseeable future, a safe person to Dan. _For_ Dan.

“Hold me,” Dan finally says, ducking under Phil's arm and curling into his chest. “Just want you to hold me.”

So Phil does. Phil is secure and safe and everything Dan needs to face the ugliest parts of the world.

The girls don't stop staring, but Dan kinda doesn't give a fuck.

-

The library is Dan’s home, but he does have a family outside of it, along with a house that holds a bedroom and a kitchen and a living room but isn't a home.

He doesn't like that house, because that house brews resentment for him.

Dan gets into an argument with his mum about his desire to move out, and it leaves him bitter and angry so he retreats back to his true home, the one with the smell of old paper and dark-roasted coffee and Phil Lester.

He walks into the library and Phil is already waiting for him, sofa pulled against the wall.

Phil must notice something isn't right the second he sees Dan, because he sits up and opens his arms instantly, letting Dan fall into them and lay himself right on top of his body.

“Oh, Bear,” he whispers, kissing the top of Dan's head, “trouble in Dan-land?”

“Always trouble,” Dan mutters sourly. “Mum hates me now.”

Phil squeezes his hand, an invitation to go on.

“I told her I wanted to move out and she called me a traitor,” he grumbles. “She said I use her for money, which is total shit, right? Because I have a bloody job and I get a decent paycheck, so she's just being a twat about it. I don't know,” he grabs Phil's hand and laces their fingers together, “it’s all a bunch of bullshit. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t want her pain in the arse kid out of her house.”

Phil kisses his hair again. In a fleeting thought, Dan wishes his mouth was there instead.

“You're not a pain in the arse,” Phil replies, “and she loves you. Everyone does. Who can deny those dimples?”

Dan doesn't appreciate the compliment, nor does he agree, but he nods shortly to keep the tension at bay. “Tell me about your family,” he says in an attempt to change the subject. “M’tired of talking about mine.”

There's a hesitant moment of heavy silence. Phil shifts so Dan's weight is more evenly distributed across his lap and torso.

“Don't you want to read a bit?” He questions. “You're almost finished with the one about the Grecians, aren't you?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Dan bites his lip and wills the anxiousness to subside, “I could, but. I want to know about you. Your story. If that’s okay.”

Phil raises an eyebrow, but the uncertainty is still written on his face. “My story? Sounds boring.

“Can't be worse than Dickens, can it?” That gets Phil to giggle, so Dan scoots impossibly closer, perching his chin on Phil's shoulder. “C’mon, tell me about your parents.” He plants a kiss on Phil's jaw for good measure.

“Well. Okay,” he clears his throat dramatically, adams apple vibrating near Dan’s cheek, “my mum's name is Katherine.”

Phil goes on to explain that he has loving parents and an older brother that apparently inherited the only good traits in his family. He has family back home that he visits around the holidays, and ran off to live on his own as soon as he got out of university because ‘ _it’s easier to be a wreck when you do it alone_.’

Dan listens to every word, even the ones that make his stomach twist and his eyes burn. Phil talks about how he has parts of his family that disowned him, who don't invite him over for Christmas and who shunned his parents for being nothing but supportive when he came out as a boy who likes boys. He chokes up when he tries to make Dan understand, because no one has ever understood him before and Dan can see that from the way his hands grip a little harder around Dan's.

“I wanted to be normal for so long that I forgot how to be me. Sometimes,” he blinks slow, chews the inside of his lip, “sometimes, I wonder if it would've been better to be normal.”

He quiets down after that, resides to playing with Dan's hair and stroking his back.

“I think you're wonderful the way you are now. The people who said you aren't are a bunch of miserable pricks,” Dan states. He feels Phil's fingertips dancing on his spine.

Phil doesn't respond, and Dan doesn't push. It's a story he knows won't have a happy ending. Not yet, anyway.

They hang around until closing time just to cuddle some more, and when Dan presses a final goodbye kiss to Phil's cheek, he makes sure to whisper that he accepts Phil no matter what, and he'd fight for him any day.

Phil smiles, and it's okay for now.

-

The first time they kiss, Dan is typing up a memo for the office and Phil is colouring in a dragon colouring book left behind by some kid the day before.

His tongue pokes out between his rosy pink lips, just enough that Dan can see where he bites it a bit, a habit Dan has grown unspeakably fond of. He looks absolutely adorable, sprawled out between Dan's legs as Dan's back rests against the side of the sofa, books stacked around them like a fortress.

They've kissed before, on the cheek and chin and forehead and jaw and hair and nose and everywhere else Dan could access on a rainy day, but never on the lips and never more than a short peck.

Dan has kissed three people in his life, and that's a feat of its own. Anxiety makes it too fucking hard to do anything involving people, let alone build relationships and share physical contact. The fear of rejection is too strong, and the inevitability of pain would only make it worse.

Except with Phil, neither of those things would ever happen. Phil wouldn't hurt Dan. He never has, he never will.

“Hey, Phil?”

He perks up but doesn’t look away from his colouring. “Yeah?”

“If I kissed you, would you kiss me back?”

That gets him to stop. He leans to the side to get a proper look at Dan, a yellow crayon still plucked in his fingers.

“I mean. I think. Um,” his eyes dart from Dan's eyes to his mouth in a way that Dan can only pinpoint as _want_ , “I think I would, yeah. I like you, I'm pretty sure you like me, anything beyond that is up for discussion. I know you get a little tiffed at uncertainty and-”

“Will you kiss me then?” Dan interrupts. Phil rambles a lot, it’s a part of the restlessness, but Dan is on edge already and the wait is insufferable. “Right now. Will you?”

“Do you want me to?” Phil asks.

“I think so, yeah.”

There's a little bit of hesitation in which Phil stares at Dan and Dan stares at Phil and neither of them move and Dan thinks _fuck it_ before he takes Phil’s face and draws him up, kissing him in one swift motion.

It’s a small touch of lips that makes something so much greater explode in Dan's chest. His hand shakes where it’s cupping Phil's cheek, thumb gently stroking over the curve of his jaw, feeling the stubble that grows in after a few hours.

They pull apart but they don't move a muscle, opting to keep the warm distance because Dan might fall apart if they separate. He'd be a pile of limbs and love and fondness all over the floor, Phil’s name still lingering on his tongue, but he'd be the happiest he's ever been.

“Your eyes are still closed,” Phil murmurs as his finger traces Dan's dimple. “Was it okay?”

“More than okay,” Dan replies, breathless and blissed, “fuck, so much more than okay.”

Dan can feel Phil's breath when he laughs, the way his shoulders shudder when Dan kisses him again, eyes still closed, just because.

- 

Phil has said once or twice what the doctors diagnosed him with, but he has made it clear that he does not want the labels.

“I'm too much,” he tells Dan one day, when they're sipping warm tea and sharing a package of biscuits. “I think too much. I do too much. I'm a lot to handle, so people try to fix it.”

Dan's mouth turns at the sides, and he places another biscuit between Phil's teeth. “That's stupid. You're not too much. You're the right amount of everything. Perfect. Wonderful. There's nothing to fix.”

“You think that,” Phil scoffs playfully, a little crumb on the corner of his mouth, “but wait until you watch me flick lights on twenty times when you want to go to sleep.”

“That’s fine,” Dan shrugs, wiping Phil's lip with his thumb, “I'll close my eyes and wait for you to finish.”

Something different flashes on Phil's face, something close to confusion but even closer to  astonishment.

“You really don't think I'm too much?” He asks, tepid and vulnerable. Like Dan could hurt him.

Dan kisses him slow, a soft hand on Phil's chin.

“You're just enough.”

-

They talk less about the world and more about themselves, because they’re kind of a thing now. Not a thing with a label, Phil is still very, very against those, but still a thing. Dan thinks that's perfectly fine for now.

They talk about how Phil makes videos online, sometimes for companies but most of the time for fun. He wants to be a director one day, and took classes for it back in uni. He claims it was the only thing he could pay attention to, that didn't make him frustrated or upset when he had to focus on it. He talks about home, how much he’s missed him mum and dad since he left them a year ago. Sometimes, he talks about nothing and everything, things that don't matter and things that do.

Dan has a harder time with that.

“Tell me your story,” Phil begs for the second time that hour, “I've told you everything about me. You know the password to my email from when I was 13, can't you tell me a story? Something about your family, at least?”

He doesn’t mean anything malicious by it, and Dan is fully aware that if he told Phil he didn't want to say anything about himself, Phil would respect that. They’d drop it and talk about dinosaurs or the new pancake place down the street that serves pumpkin spice year round. They’d avoid it for as long as Dan wants to.

It’s a trust thing, Dan is aware of that. He’s never trusted anyone before, not his closest friends or his parents or even himself.

But _fuck_ , Dan trusts Phil, trusts him more than anyone. He would give Phil his entire life if he asked.

So it's worth a shot.

“Are you sure?” Dan asks, just in case. “It's… it's not a happy story. It’ll make things different.”

Phil kisses him, as a reminder rather than a reply. “I'll listen no matter what,” he says softly, “even when it's not a happy story.”

“I don't think I have a happy story to tell.” He looks at Phil, how his eyes are still full of curiosity and hope. “Well. Maybe one. And I’m sure he already knows how it goes.”

Phil's cheeks flush a beautiful shade of shiny pink and Dan wants to feel it's heat under his palm, see if maybe it's as warm as he feels inside.

“Tell a different one then,” Phil says quietly, laying the side of his head down against Dan's chest. “Tell me a story I don't know.”

In the vast bank of Dan's memories, there are more bad than good. They're filled with nights spent sobbing, nails dragging down his knees and thighs, itching to rid himself of the skin that confines a soul that is too big for the person it inhabits. They're filled with pills and therapy and wishful thinking from a doctor he hates and a mother he wishes could understand. They’re filled with a confused teenager trying to sort himself out while his mind unties any connections he tries to make.

Then, there's Phil.

And Phil wants to hear a story.

“I used to write my own little novels,” Dan starts, fingers twirling in the flat ends of Phil's hair. “Like, as a little kid, I didn't have any friends, ‘cause I was weird. So I wrote books, because then I could _make_ my own friends. That sounds so fucking sad out loud, dear god,” he laughs, and Phil smiles as well. “But it’s the truth, right? Yeah, so I stopped when I got to upper form, because I got real friends. They didn't really _get_ me though, you know? They didn't get why I hated parties and drinking and stuff. I liked books and PC games and cringe-y emo music. They kept me around, but didn't care about me or anything. I guess I was the friend no one wanted but had just in case?”

Phil doesn't speak up, but nods quietly, and Dan takes it as a cue to keep going.

“So I never really got to have good, solid people in my life. My mum gave up on me a while ago, sometime after the third medicine change. My dad doesn't care at all, and my brother is too young to understand. You're…” he sighs, swallowing the burning lump in his throat and playing with the skin on Phil's hand, “you're the first, I guess. To ever care about me. I don’t deserve it, obviously, and you need things that I won't ever be able to give you, but it’s okay. I'm not the best. And even now, I still get all defensive and mean when you ask for simple things because I'm just kind of garbage that way.”

Self deprecation has always tasted sweet on his tongue, like he finally heard what he knew was true, but when Phil looks up at him with sad eyes and a bitten-red bottom lip, it suddenly tastes so bitter he wishes he could swallow it back down.

“Oh no, Phil,” he whispers, kissing Phil's knuckles, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I told you it'd be sad-”

“You don’t know what you really are, do you?” Phil asks, small and broken. “Your worth. You don't know how much you mean to everyone, do you?”

Dan's mouth twists and he shrugs, his eyes starting to water at a rapid pace. “Phil, I just…I'm sorry. I won't tell any more stories, okay?”

Phil shakes his head, sniffling. “No, no, I want you to tell me every single story you have, because you're _delightful_ . You don't even know, Dan, you don't know how much people adore and need you. I want you to tell me about your life because I want to listen, because. Because. _Fuck_ , Dan, you deserve the entire world and universe and the stars and everything in between.”

It makes tears spill over Dan's cheeks and down his jaw, too focused on what Phil is saying to wipe them away.

“You...are the best thing I have ever found. And you think,” Phil's lip trembles so much Dan almost thinks he's going to cry as well, “you think you're bad? You're perfect. You're everything good in this world. You're…”

He falls silent, and Dan can tell he's losing himself. He’s scrounging for words he can’t find yet.

“Mine,” He rasps, like a secret. “And you're mine.”

Even though Dan knows this, has known since the very first time Phil called him ‘love’, hearing Phil say it is a sensation he never wants to forget.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm yours,” Dan agrees, his vision blurred through the tears still resting in his eyes, “yours, always.”

It doesn't stop the lost look on Phil’s face, but maybe that's not the point.

It puts them in stone. It places a permanent mark on them both, the settled agreement that they belong to each other, and to each other they'll stay. Because that's where they're happy.

The night ends with warm kisses and promises made between the lines of a story still being written.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ....this could have a part two
> 
> idk follow me on tumblerz @ dansblue


End file.
